


Peace

by izzyb



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Het, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-01
Updated: 2009-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyb/pseuds/izzyb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An early morning discovery has McCoy asking questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace

The night had been humid and hot, a welcome change after too many months on a sterile ship that had not given McCoy much of an opportunity to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. He hadn't complained about the stickiness of their skin when they clung to each other in the middle of the moonless night and Nyota had noticed his restraint, whispering in his ear as he moved unhurriedly inside her that he was sexy as sin when he was home in his own environment.

Around dawn, a cool breeze started to flow in through the open windows, fluttering the meager curtains in their rented house. It was not as if they had never explored each other's naked bodies, but the morning sun hitting the bed at exactly the right moment highlighted the skin on Uhura's thighs in a new way. McCoy wouldn't have noticed except his head was currently resting on her stomach and he was tracing the skin with an idle fingertip while Nyota lay back on the bed, arm flung over her eyes.

He paused when he felt a ridge, a scar that was high up on her leg. Uhura tensed when his hand left her and he lifted his head to take a better look. He found almost a dozen more, some lighter than others that he could barely feel but could see the lines etched into her skin.

"What—" He stopped, confused, not knowing what to ask. "Did someone hurt you?" An unholy rage began to fill him and he was ready to storm out of the relaxed state of the room and find whatever bastard had dared to touch her.

She wouldn't answer him, but continued to hide under her arm, which did nothing to cool his anger. "Answer me, Nyota. Who do I have to kill?" She sat up at that, a ghost of a smile on her face, even as she worriedly smoothed his raised eyebrows with her thumbs.

"It's nothing like that." She replaced his hands with hers on her thighs, tracing the many fading scars. "Sometimes I just need…the rush." He looked at her blankly, even though the idea made sense—his best friend was an adrenaline junkie. She sighed. "At least I used to. I don't do it anymore, but after Narada, my emotions were rioting and I had no control—"

"And Spock didn't help."

She frowned at him, then nodded. "He was so closed down then. No one could reach him." She trailed her fingers through his hair, soothingly, as if he was the one needing reassurance. "So I found a way to control myself—and it worked. I found serenity of a sort."

Her eyes turned away and her hands dropped from his head and he mourned the loss. He nudged his head against her leg. "Look here," he beckoned and she gave in, face guarded. "When did you stop?" He knew she had—the scars were old, at least a year or more.

"That first time you held me when I cried—I felt so stupid and weak—but you told me that it was natural, to let it out, but to not do it in front of anyone but you." She grinned then, crawling over to McCoy and pushing him over on the bed to hold him down and nibble on his chin. "And then I seduced you."

His eyes darkened. "I remember." He shaped his hands over her ass and down underneath to her scars, closing his eyes at the ultimate hurt that she would feel the need to do that. He couldn't believe that he had never noticed them until now, but only two of the deeper cuts could be felt by hand.

"Don't think about it. Think about this. Think about us." She stroked him to full hardness—not a difficult feat considering the view of her breasts that he leaned up to kiss while she held him in her hand. "No—this is my turn. No touching." He lay back, obedient, gasping when she sank down on him slowly, adjusting.

She wouldn't move right away, instead kissing his closed eyes and down his face as if attempting to comfort him, trying to take care of his pain. He clenched the sheet tightly in his hands when she flicked his nipples with her fingernails, resisting the urge to thrust upwards and take control.

Finally, she moved on him, building the pressure slowly, so much that he could feel every nerve ending tingling. "Are you finding it?" He gritted out, still grasping at the sheets.

"What?" She leaned over to kiss him and he moaned at the movement, but did not do what he wanted and put his hands on her waist and move her.

"Your peace." He couldn't help it—he pushed himself up and into her.

She tightened around him, strong thighs gripping his hips, a look of concentration of her face. "It's already there." Her fingers laced with his as she held him down and he realized that she needed this—this was part of the rush—and he gave in to the ride.

**Author's Note:**

> My thoughts on the subject of self-mutilation (in response to a criticism that this is imposing a western thing on a character who is from Africa):
> 
> I wrote this for a prompt, so the idea wasn't originally mine. However, cutting isn't necessarily a purely "western" thing. Self mutilation has been around forever, including the ancient Mayans. Also, some tribes in Africa practiced (practice?) mutilation as a sign of mourning. I assume (yeah, I know what happens when you assume) that Uhura would be exposed to so many different cultures that she could easily pick up the "bad" habits, including cutting. Also, our culture today is blended--it has to be worse in the future.


End file.
